I wish you would
by finestsince
Summary: Derek, being the selfless Alpha that he is, can't let the one person he cares about most stay in the danger zone. Sending Stiles away was his only option, but now he's left alone and wishing he'd never done what he had. Luckily, Stiles is like the sea to his beach and will always return, no matter how many times Derek stupidly sends him away. Sterek. T for a tiny bit of swearing.


_You're thinking that I hate you now _

_'cus you still don't know what I never said_

_I wish you would come back,_

_Wish I'd never hung up the phone like I did, I-_

_Wish you knew that I'll never forget you as long as I live_

Sometimes, Derek doesn't even know what he's doing. He has this startling tendency to fuck things up way more than they needed to be, even with the people he cared for most. _Especially _for the people he cared for most.

So it's no surprise, really, that he didn't think about turning on Stiles once the new Alphas showed up after the dead pool was revamped and he was back on it-20 thousand. 20 thousand for his head skewered on a stick and anyone else would just be collateral damage.

He wouldn't have thought twice about sending the hyper kid running a few months ago; but nowadays he thought about it with ever empty echo of his feet on the floorboards where there was once a plethora of bangs and steps reverberating around. Before he realised the target on his back was painted in blood, he'd finally managed a semblance of a normal life, he thought. Scott was raising his own pack now and the alpha he was becoming made Derek's cold heart thaw at the edges, knowing at least that someone would be in Beacon Hills to do a better job than him.

Lydia would preen around the flat as often as Malia would drop in. Stiles would try and pretend he'd been dragged along with them, though he'd be the one bounding through the door first and flattening on to Derek's sofa to bury his face in it.

"M'tired." He'd complain into the soft leather which smelt distinctly _Derek, _and Derek felt this weird tug in his gut urging him to leave the boy content in his immediate vicinity.

The tug in his gut reached his chest two days after that when they were all lounging around on the sofa and floor with as many snacks as Stiles and Scott could carry between them scattered around. Stiles was next to him-Derek blamed his heightened awareness of the heat coming off the boy on his wolfish senses. When Stiles reached across Derek's lap and stretched his pale fingers out to snatch the bag of prawn cocktail potato chips from Scott, the tug he'd felt encapsulated his heart and _jolted _it. It'd made Derek twitch minutely but Stiles, his Chest sprawled across Derek's knees to ensure he secured his bag, felt it and turned at an awkward angle to look at him.

He quickly straightened and curled his legs up on to the sofa, careful not to touch Derek again. He ate the chips in uncharacteristic silence, angling his face away-Derek thought- to hide the blush that crept treacherously up the back of his neck. As if it could be hid; Derek could _feel _his body heat ratchet up with Stiles'. That was, as Lydia would probably dub dramatically, the beginning of the end.

He'd been in love before-well, he'd been infatuated. Kate was one, but there were others. Women whom, at the time, he thought he loved. Thought he cared for. But the heat that they'd make pool in his stomach and satiate was incomparable, incomprehensibly minute to the inferno which Derek very quickly realised he was in deep. It congealed in his arms when Stiles wasn't around, agitating him into action of any kind. But when he was near-when his hand brushed his shoulder or arm accidentally, the fire would spread through his chest and to his head making him turn always to where Stiles was.

Of course, there was denial; this was Derek. He'd put it down to being the Alpha, the protector. He'd ignored the feeling of Stiles' skin next to his, have another beer to press it into his stomach in a vain attempt to stave off the heat, avoided him for the best part of a fortnight.

But like danger which seemed to lurk around each corner, never letting Derek go Stiles would zap back into his life or into his flat or into his car as he waited for Scott. And Derek loved it, drank it up from the second he realised he wasn't going to get rid of him and wasn't going to ignore him because, _damn, _it felt _nice._ For once in his life, the smile that he'd quickly wipe off his face when Scott told him Stiles was coming or Stiles just turned up made him feel-normal. He'd suspected this is what it felt to be in one of those teen romance novels but could do nothing about it.

Days of letting Stiles stay late when Scott was out on Alpha duties and Lydia was tutoring Malia and Liam was training turned to weeks where Stiles might 'accidentally' fall asleep on his couch and stay the night. Derek thought the bed hair alone was worth it, not to mention the grub he'd then cook up as a thank you breakfast.

As the weeks of acceptance became a whole month of blood and breakfasts, Stiles filled Derek's sense more and more frequently. He could hear his quickened pace from the lot outside, smell the Adderall he had in his pocket, watch him from his peripheral vision as he shouldered through the door with food and soda to stock up "a fridge which desperately needed some loving".

It was the night before the big game, Scott and Stiles' lacrosse match to win the season and qualify to first seed. Scott was home cleaning and 'sorting things' for his mom who'd taken another double shift when Derek's senses twitched and announced Stiles' agitated presence before the knock on the door ever did.

Derek opened the door to find Stiles dragging a hand through his hair and shifting to his back foot as Derek filled the doorway.

"Dude, can you not with the whole 'scary Alpha' thing? I'm hungry and I'm nervous and Scott's decidedly _ditched _me because he doesn't worry about these kinds of things."

Derek raised an eyebrow but padded lazily back to his seat on the sofa and tried his hardest to ignore the onslaught of statistics on how many players get injured in these types of games.

What was harder to ignore was Stiles knee propped against Derek's thigh as he jumped back on to the sofa with a bowl of Cheetos in one hand and coke in the other. He must've mistaken Derek's pursed lips as something it wasn't because the next second he was innocently extending his coke for Derek.

"No? Ok dude, your call, but I gotta say, if you think you're picking the movie you are absolutely not." Stiles already had the remote lined up in front of the flat screen they'd all insisted Derek install in his flat for the more tenuous pack meetings, flicking to Netflix and selecting something Derek really didn't care about.

21 hours, 29 minutes and 17 seconds before Derek scented the second Alpha pack in as many full moons tearing through the woods of Beacon Hills, Stiles' head tipped unconsciously onto Derek's shoulder in an endearing low. Brought on no doubt by the sugar low accompanied with the ridiculous amount of sugar Stiles had consumed. By now, Derek just kind of accepted the urge to pet Stiles' head as he slept through the beginning of the third movie he'd chosen, and for a few seconds, he considered it. Stiles was here, in his flat, when no one else was most of the time; he wasn't afraid of him, wasn't afraid to call him out and definitely was not afraid to piss him off. It was endearing in a weird sort of way which Derek really didn't want to analyse right now, because Stiles' crossed legs still overlapped on to Derek's thigh in a way which, now he thought about it, may not have been completely accidental. The sofa wasn't that small.

With his free hand he cautiously reached up to brush some of the hair out of Stiles' slack face and his nose twitched. Derek froze; a part of him wanted to be watching the TV when Stiles woke which would allow him to not comment on the body contact, whereas another part kind of wanted to be caught. He could wait, then, gauge Stiles' reaction to the situation and confirm what he already suspected- no need for him to say anything, no need for any more of this dancing around that they were becoming professionals at. But Stiles stayed asleep and, despite Derek's best efforts, he soon followed.

13 hours, 42 minutes and 53 seconds before two of the Alpha pack tried-and failed- to lure him out and kill him by kidnapping Malia, Derek awoke with a painful neck. He cricked it forward to try and get up from the ridiculously uncomfortable seat when something tickled his nose and-oh.

Stiles' legs had curled more comfortably in on himself and onto Derek's own, his arms crossing and head coming to rest on Derek's chest as some sort of heavily warm comforter. Derek breathed in deeply, and then out, and then in again. The screen of the TV was lit up with the Netflix 'replay' page and Derek reached for the remote to turn it off with the arm which had wrapped itself around Stiles in the night.

"Ngh." Came a groggy moan from beneath his nose as he did so and Derek froze with his arm extended.

"Morning." Came the automatic response as Stiles uncurled himself enough to look up into Derek's wolf-in-the-headlights face.

"Mm," Stiles responded. His eyes flickered to Derek's slightly parted lips for a second before looking back up at him through long lashes and not moving an inch. The heat in the room was making Derek's arms light on fire as the warmth spread once more through his chest, igniting at the points of contact. Slowly, slowly, carefully and not breaking eye contact, Derek brought his left hand across to his lap, brushing Stiles' knee as he did so and keeping his fingertips on it. From that slight movement alone Stiles' jaw tightened minutely before relaxing. His mouth dropped open a little to mimic Derek's as Derek's wolf keened somewhere deep inside of him.

It felt right to be here, this close, almost holding Stiles to him. Their faces were inches apart, each millimeter a mountain ash wall to Derek's terrified mind-but he couldn't move. The orbit that Stiles had him in wouldn't break; no matter how hard he tried to pull away which is probably why Stiles had to be the one to move first.

The inches became only one inch and Derek felt the warm breath on hi-

"Derek? Derek? Is Stiles here, I needed to go over some pre game planning with him. You know we've got that big match tonight and the Sheriff said he wasn't home last night, figured he'd crashed here." _Are you kidding me Scott_. Derek jack knifed to his feet, sending Stiles catapulting to the floor and landing with a groan on his back.

"Scott." _Is a super quiet sneak when he wants to be, _Derek thought. Or maybe he was just distracted.

"Yeah, hey, let myself in, hope you don't mind. Is Stiles-ah there you are. Dude, what the hell are you doing on the floor? Never mind-look, have you seen coaches email this morning? He's set out a whole new plan for the second half if we're losing and I think we need to go over it." Scott had stepped inside and was now slinging his backpack off onto the sofa to get out his laptop and open it up.

Derek made his way back to his room and the day continued.

4 hours pass where Derek briefs them all on the latest and greatest Alpha pack to tear up their lives and they've managed to track Lydia down and take out the few who were holding her. It was a trap, of course it was, but there weren't nearly enough Alpha's there for Derek to be worried. Liam got a clip around the jaw which he rubbed for the next half hour but Derek suspected it was more a test of strength than and actual attack. He could feel that one coming in his bones.

Call it instinct, call it whatever, but he'd grown more accustomed to the feeling as he understood it. He used to ignore it, used to think it was just nerves or worry about who or what was going to attack his pack next. Recently, he'd chalked it up to something else, maybe his inner Alpha screaming at him when things were going to get dicey. And this was the worst of all. Even when he was lying on the floor and bleeding out, watching as Stiles turned back to him with the most sickened expression on his face-he'd been leaving him to save Scott, but he'd still been leaving him. Derek's insides had twisted but somehow, somehow, it was from the idea of losing Stiles and not the blood lost.

This was different; they'd already taken Lydia, meaning they'd been watching their interactions. Meaning they were all in danger, and Derek need to focus.

He contemplated his choices and came to the most obvious conclusion that Stile wouldn't be going anywhere no matter how much danger he told him they were in, no matter if he begged or pleaded. He might, if it meant saving Stiles' life, if he thought it'd make the slightest bit of difference. He needed Scott, he needed Malia, Liam and even Lydia's foresight; what he needed most from Stiles was for him to be alive, though. And he knew that no explanation would satisfy him to the point of staying away from danger or, even better, the town.

It was with that thought that he'd called the pack meeting. He wanted to get Stiles out of the town at least, maybe tell him he wasn't needed in a way that'd hurt him enough to make him leave; it just came out wrong. Stiles' problem was that he was just a little too good at reading people. Derek's problem was that he couldn't read Stiles.

The meeting was fine, the plan had been laid out, the defences set up when Stiles asked

"What do you need me to do?" His leg was bounding as he perched himself on the arm of the sofa, and Derek took a deep breath.

"Nothing." The others were quiet, usually Stiles was the one with the plan or the one with the magic; but here he was with his insecurities of being the runt of the pack being solidified by the guy he'd almost kissed and friend who he definitely, _definitely _ didn't think would be putting him down in front of the whole pack.

The rest of the night was a haze of Stiles shouting and people leaving and Derek snapping viciously. It had to work, he told himself, had to be believable. Stiles just _could not _be there, _could not _be hurt in the crossfire.

"You think you can just _leave me out? _Are you kidding me? My best friend's there risking his life and you want me to just sit back and do nothing?!" Stiles was closer to him now, breathing heavily and getting in to Derek's personal space.

"We don't need your help, Stiles. Not this time." Derek wouldn't meet his eyes, which is probably what ticked Stiles off to the lie in the lines.

"No way, I'm not buying it. What the hell is this about, Derek? Let me help, please." The last few words came out softly and Stiles reached out to try and soothe the tension between them, ricocheting off the walls and giving him a headache. His fingertips grazed Derek's folded arms. The burn that came with them riled Derek and in some sick, twisted way brought back the memories of fire too hot to get through, of family burnt and lovers bled to death. Not this time, he vowed immediately, not again.

"Derek, jus-"

"No, Stiles. We don't need your help." Stiles eyes creased in hurt. This wasn't happening. He tried to shut himself off from what he could see was coming next. "I don't need you."

If Derek were any weaker, he'd have stuttered on the last part, but his memories had numbed him to steel and it was with a metal fist that he metaphorically punched Stiles in the gut. He could see it in his eyes-the shattering trust, the blossom of pain. Boy without a mother, guilt ridden from the day she'd died, a burden to a father whom he couldn't support in the way he needed getting told he wasn't needed by his second family. Derek felt his insides rot but blanked his face. Better sad than dead. Better he live without Derek in his life than with him and the constant threat of death which accompanied him.

"Leave, Stiles. You're not helping us here, no point in staying with the Alpha pack around. I hear California's warm this time of year."

Stiles transitioned through pain to heartbreak to numbness with a practiced hand and Derek almost laughed at their similarity. If only, if _only, _Stiles. If only we were in a different world, he thought.

"You're such an asshole." Stiles meant it to come out angry, bitter, resentful; instead, his voice whispered out the confession underneath the layers of lies and betrayal. Derek turned from him, heart simultaneously weighed to his stomach from guilt and buoyed to the sky for knowing that Stiles would be safe.

"So I've been told." He spoke in an equally tired voice and maybe Stiles wasn't as perceptive as he thought, because the agony laced in his voice at losing Stiles for good-and he did understand that there was no coming back from this-was evident to Derek.

It was already dark outside; a charcoal grey reflecting the bleak nothingness seeping through Derek's chest. He'd wished it was pitch black, even oblivion would be better than this numbing hell.

Days bled into months on monotony for Derek; Stiles had left town the night Derek had practically ripped his own heart out, according to the Sheriff. Semester was over, so Stiles had told him he fancied a long awaited vacation from Beacon Hills west with his cousins, though Derek knew better.

But the weakening heat of summer dissipated into a cooler autumn where the leaves lay undisturbed in front of Derek's flat. Scott had gone to see Stiles after the Alpha pack was dealt with and then on to check out college campus' before he chose. Of course, with little action around Beacon Hills, it was understandable that Lydia and Malia weren't hanging around his flat, though they'd come past once in a while to see how much he didn't care anymore.

He'd won, right? Beacon Hills was protected once more and two Alpha pack defeats had both hunters and the supernatural cautious to breach their territory. But of course, of course you can't be happy Derek, that's not your job. Letting people live, that's your job. At least that's what he tried to convince himself of.

Autumn passed with a tired sigh and small shake of its head letting winter settle into Derek's marrow, cementing the numbness of becoming a lone wolf once again.

It was really, really cold outside but Derek wasn't too prone to being out if not for a run anymore. It was getting bad; he could see the worry in Scott's eyes when he came round to 'check up on things' (check up on him). He could smell it on him, though his wolf wanted another smell around, another scent which would thaw the ice in his marrow and set him on fire once again.

He was in the kitchen mindlessly swallowing cold pizza when he heard Scott's footsteps outside. It was a testament to how completely switched off he was that he didn't even question when the door to his flat opened and footsteps strode purposefully in; it wasn't Scott.

Derek's tired eyes widened as he swallowed quickly, hand still raised to his mouth. He dropped it to grip the counter he was leaning back against. Stiles' mouth was open and moving slightly which, coupled with the run in to his apartment unannounced, Derek assumed meant he had something to say planned-it wasn't often he was in this state.

Regret sprung so deeply from Derek that he almost got out _I'm so sorry _before Stiles held up a hand. He still didn't say anything, but in an instant Derek's melted. He was so, so intent on not having Stiles hurt that he didn't realise he'd just hurt them both in the worst way possible; he could smell it in the desperation on Stiles that he felt the same way.

And the tension that had built up for the months of separation suddenly and unexplainably dissipated as Stiles stepped closer and Derek's shoulders dropped. He would have dropped his head in relief had it not meant breaking eye contact with the boy in front of him, hair dewy from the snow outside and face flushed.

"I love you." _Well._ And Derek didn't need to be told twice. His instincts took over and he would have cried out had he not been so intent on _getting to stiles. _He reached him in record time, holding his face in his hands and bringing their mouths together. If it was the first time, why did he feel like he knew these lips better than his own? He licked his way into Stiles' mouth, swallowing the moan that he let out and stroking a hand down his neck. Stiles' hands flew to Derek's chest as he first bound upon him, but now were grapping the back of his neck and the loops on his jeans to drag him closer.

Derek growled inhumanly when Stiles kissed back more ferociously than he could have anticipated and broke away to nip his way down Stiles' pale neck whispering _I'm sorry_'s as he went.

Finally, _finally, _Stiles was in his arms-back in his arms, squirming to get Derek back up to his mouth. Stiles threaded his fingers through Derek's hair, his other hand smoothing up his back making Derek shiver as his fingers brushed above his triskelion.

"Never-_Never _fucking try and protect me again, sourwolf." Derek laughed lowly and brokenly; the nickname told him he was forgiven, the eyes holding his told him it wasn't a joke.

"I swear it." He whispered back, holding Stiles' gaze for a few seconds before leaning in to run his tongue gently along Stiles' bottom lip and kiss him gently.

"I swear it."


End file.
